


The Tale of Victor Nikiforov's Christmas

by Linisen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 50's, Because there a family, Christmas, Don't copy to another site, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gift Giving, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Poverty, Romance, Sagan om Karl-Bertil Johnssons Jul AU, Swedish Christmas tale, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Yakov Lilia and Yuri is also named Nikiforov, Yakovs receding hairline, victor extra nikiforov, yoi advent calendar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16977822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linisen/pseuds/Linisen
Summary: Victor Nikiforov, seventeen and in grammar school, is working extra at the post office during Christmas. Not that he needs to, since his father Yakov is one of the wealthiest men in the country.Victor has a dream to become as righteous and chivalrous as his hero Robin Hood and therefor decides to steal all the packages addressed to the wealthiest people in the city, hading them out to the poorest living in the slum area. When he's about to go back home, Makkachin run's of in to an alley where Victor find a boy his age and his small dog.The boy's in torn and dirty clothes, shivering from the cold December night. His eye's are warm album, his hair jet black and he has the softest smile and kindest heart Victor has ever come across. He reaches out, and finds himself falling.





	The Tale of Victor Nikiforov's Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This story is heavily baste on the Swedish Christmas story ‘Sagan om Karl-Bertil Johnssons Julaforn’ (Translated to The Tale of Karl-Bertil Johnsson's Christmas Eve.) by Tasge Danielsson and  Per Åhlin. This story is shown every Christmas Eve on Swedish television. I really wanted to write something christmasy for the fandom and this is what came out. I hope you enjoyed it. Merry Christmas and Happy holidays.

**The Tale of Victor Nikiforov’s Christmas**

 

Once a upon a time, during a Christmas a long time ago, there was as usual a flurry of baking and cooking, cleaning and wiping, shopping and wrapping and a insane upsurge in the shopping business that made the rich directors even richer and the poor buyers even poorer. 

In one of the post offices in the country's capital stood Victor Nikiforov, sorting thru incoming packages. Victor Nikiforov is seventeen and went to grammar school. Right now however, as previously stated, he was sorting thru incoming packages. These days, right before Christmas, the postal office hired school youths to work all thru the night since the usual staff shifts ended at five. 

Now you might feel bad for Victor Nikiforov since he had to stand there all night sorting the incoming packages. But let me tell you that there is no need. Victor Nikiforov came from a well of home, his dad Yakov was the director of a large emporium and got increasingly wealthier by the hour on people buying tea-lights and table cloth. But Victor thought it was fun to make some of his own money, because this was at that time in history when one might think like that. 

While Victor stood and threw boxes marked with ‘Glass’ and ‘handle with care’ on to the stone floors of the postal sorting area he thought about Robin Hood. Robin Hood was Victor Nikiforov’s hero. Heroic quests, friendship, monks that fought with cain's for a righteous cause, healthy outdoor living, beautiful love interest with gorgeous brown eyes to help over creeks and away from evil, reverence for the rightful king and hole deer thigh broiled over open fire was the best things that Victor could imagine. And of course the lawless righteous principle to take from the rich and give to the poor.

At four in the mourning, Victor Nikiforov let out a relieved sigh, crushing the last corrugated wrapt crystal chandelier on the hard stone floor of the Royal Postal Office and headed home thru empty snow covered streets. His steps echoed against the building walls, a pace fast eco that pounded softly at his tired ears. To take from the rich and give to the poor.

A sad workhouse girl pass him by, stopping briefly to consider to ask for some change but decides to let it rest, walking on in the cold night as her cigarette smoke creates patterns in the air. An old man, face grey and swollen from years of loving the bottle followed his steps from a short staircase in front of the storefront of the apothecary, half empty bottle of wine dangling from his blue fingers. A young mother with a small infant in her arms, wrapt in a blanket, stood looking up at a doorway of an apartment building, abusive father thrown them out on the street after a brawl, black eye throbbing. A delinquent speed down the street in a stolen Ford. Victors heart aches for them all. 

Christmas was near. These lonely miserable ones that the salvation army keeps their doors open for. Rocking around the Christmas Tree. Dancing and singing. The joyous holiday. Cold is the night for those who don’t have a home to go home to.  _ To take from the rich and give to the poor. _ Victor Nikiforov looked back, he had made his decision. 

 

The next day, Victor Nikiforov was woken by his four year old brother Yuri jumping up on his bed. 

 

“Get up Get up Get up and join me for breakfast!” He says as he bounced them both up and down, waking Victor’s faithful companion Makkachin up from her restful slumber. She made a disapproving bof, jumping of the bed and trailing down the hall, probably to the kitchen to see if the cook had dropped something during preparing their breakfast. 

“Alright, alright little brother I'm coming I'm coming.” Victor Nikiforov agres, swinging his legs of the ledge of his bed, slipping his bare feet in to posh, warm slippers. Robe wrapped around him he makes his way after his brother who’s racing down the corridors. 

“Slow down Yura or father will have your head for breakfast” Victor calls after him. 

“See if I care!” Yuri Nikiforov yells back, blond hair swirling around his small head. 

After Victor has devoured his breakfast, two fried eggs and a piece of sausage, he sneaks into his father's study and searches the book shelves for his objective. The study is filled to the brim with books and it takes some time, manoeuvring around it. Victor Nikiforov is not used to looking thru his father's things. This is a room where children is not allowed. He would be permitted to take coffee at night with his father in here next year, when he had turned eighteen. In the third bookshelf to the left he finds it, the assessment calendar from last year. He opens it quickly, turning some of the pages to make sure he had found what he is aiming for. Sure enough, there stood the names of the capital residents and their income neatly stacked in rows. Victor Nikiforov put the book in his robe, quietly closing the door to the study as he heads out. 

 

He came to the postal office at five in the evening, he greets Mila, Georgi and Chris and sets up in the sorting room. He has adapted a sleepwalker like technic, sorting thru the packages like he normally would.  But as his eyes scanned on the address of every package his eyes lingered at the title ahead of the name of the recipient. Titles like  _ nurse, carpenter, mr, miss  _ and _ teacher _ he easily puts in to the regular bag of packages that the mailman will take out in the morning. But if he finds a package with titles like   _ director _ he let the package slide down into a separate bag. Packages addressed to  _ engineers _ ,  _ banker, doctor, managers  _ and _ estate agent _ also finds their way down to the growing sack of packages. When Mila poked her head in, the sack was all but full. 

“Would you like to join us for dinner Victor? We thought we would go out?” Mila says in the doorway, stroking her red hair behind her ear. Behind her Victor can see Georgi and Chris putting on their winter coats. Mila’s the daughter of another director of a rival emporium. When Victor's father had found out they worked together, he had claimed it would be better if he and Mila wedded, so that he could get control over that business as well. Victor Nikiforov sincerely hopes it was a joke. Mila is a nice girl, but Victor Nikiforov held no such feelings for her. He assumed the sentiment was mutual. He had seen her eying one of the older staff that they traded of, a girl with purple eyes and long dark hair.

 “No thank you Mila, I have quite the load to still get thru. Please bring me back something though.” He says, charming smile in place that he knows persuades most. It worked this time as well, Mila nodding and smiling before she disappears thru the doorway, heavy oak door falling shut with a dull thud. 

When he was alone, Victor pulls the assessment calendar from the inner pocket of his jacket and pours out the contents of his special sack, ready to start comparing the names on the address tags to the once in the calendar. Banker A. Leroy, living at Laval street 25,  assessment income at 67 500 dollars a year goes into the Robin Hood sack. So does packages to Mila’s father Director M. Babicheva and Victor's other co-workers parents as well, Engineer G. Giacometti and Doctor M. Popovich. 

Packages to people with ostentatious titles but assessments under 50 000 dollars was placed in the regular sack to be delivered as usual by the postal service. Victor Nikiforov did one exception of the rule though. The dentist, A. Crispino, who had assessed at 36 000 dollars, package was also placed in the Robin Hood sack. For Victor Nikiforov remembered his father declare, after having a new root canal set in, that all dentists assed falsely, making a shameless amount of money. 

In good time before his colleges came back he was done and has tied the sack together, placing a address tag to himself on it and continued with his regular work. Chris came in to leave a box with meatballs and potato mash for him to feed on as the work carries on well into the night. In this new sorting sack, he found a package addressed to his own father from his aunt Yekaterina Feltsman. One can not spare one's own, Victor Nikiforov thinks. His dad made well over 50 000 dollar a year as the calendar states and therefore he placed the package with the others in his special bag.  It was now filled to the brim. 

  
  


The next day Viktor Nikiforov was awaken by his mother Lilia and brother Yuri at noon, both with glitter garlands in their hair. 

“God day Victor” His mother chides as she steps into the room, opening the drapes to let the pale winter light flood the room. Yuri, much like the day before, jumps up upon the bed, pulling Victor and Makkachin out of their cuddling. This time however, the dog stayed, bumping her head against the young boys as he giggled. 

“Victor! Victor! A huge sack of packages has arrived to you!” Yuri says excitedly, still bouncing a little on the bed. 

“Sit still on the bed Yura. Yes Vitenka what is the meaning of this big postal bag taking up residence in my foyer?” his mother questions. 

“Oh, that's packages I'm suppose to sort thru, home work so to speak.” Victor says, trying not to show the excitement he felt for his coming quest. His mother would never understand such an honourable adventure that Victor would be venturing on later that night. 

“Well done Vitya. There is strength in hard work, remember that.” She states, walking towards the door. 

“One must do one's duty in life mama” Victor agres, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Well performed work gives an inner peace and that is the pillar of our society.” 

His mother blinks a couple of times before a tender smile plays on her lips, nodding before walking out of the room. 

Victor Nikiforov gets dressed with both dog and brother bouncing at his feet, both eager for different things. Makkachin for a walk, Yura to know what is in the bag. After tending to the first and a quick breakfast that more mimicked lunch, he sets out to take care of the second one. The Nikiforov brothers haules the giant postal sack into their father study after asking permission to do so. Their father had been just as pleased as their mother to find that Victor did not take his work lightly and let them use the room for the day, but only for the agreed task. 

They empties all the packages on to the floor. Victor patterns down to the kitchen to find Mrs. Nishigori preparing dinner. With batting of eyelashes and well placed compliments rendering the young cook in to a blushing mess, he leaves victoriously with a hole stack of labels in stickers form.  When he gets back to the study Yura had left, probably getting board with waiting. Victor Nikiforov sits down at his father's desk, placed the labels in front of him and writes on each and every one of them with red ink - ‘MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM AN UNKNOWN BENEFACTOR.” 

Victor Nikiforov then takes his labels and sits down next to the packages on the floor. He place a sticker over each address tag, covering it with his new message, and put the packedge back into the sack. When he was done, it’s already dark outside so he pulled the enormous sack back down to the foyer.  

In the parlour the Christmas atmosphere is almost detachable. The radio plays Christmas carols of the classic kind, honey sweet and low. His mother and Yura is dressing the tree, picking up known ornaments one by one, placing them on the green fir needle branches.  His father sits heavy in his armchair with a cup of mulled wine, a little too close to the TV for anyone else to find it comfortable. Out of the flickering box, other Christmas songs floods the room, these more upbeat and catchy. Victor takes a step into the room as he plans on joining his mother and brother, when his father locked eyes on him. 

“A particularly Merry Christmas to you my well bred boy!” He says, raising his cup of the warm alcoholic liquid swooshing, almost tumbling over the edge. 

“The Christmas tree is ready!” Lilia Nikiforov calls as Yura clapped his little hands, claiming the attention of the room. “Come now Yakov and put the star at the top of the tree.“

This was Yakov’s only and most important task at Christmas. Proudly he pulls up a chair and with some difficulty that no one in the family mentions climbs onto it. Lilia handed him the silver star, that of course came from Yakov’s own emporium. Victor Nikiforov's father reaches and with the help of standing on his tippy toes the star fitts on the tip of the tree like the crown jewel it’s suppose to be. 

“Good job Papa!” Yura calls and starts clapping again, making both Lilia and Victor join in. 

After a delightful dinner, Victor Nikiforov rises and speaks:

“Excuse me but now I have to tend to my postal bag.” This was a sentence Victor has though long and hard about, for one is not to lie to one’s parents at Christmas. 

“Oh my sweet boy” His father says with a small hiccup, mulled wine taking effect. “Let me drive you. “

Victor froze. This will not work with his plan. Scrambling to come up with an excuse, he’s interrupted by his mother. 

“Out of the question Yakov. You’ve been drinking!” 

“Then what of it? It's to cold and I have already given the driver the night of.” Yakov states, challenging his wife. But Lilia Nikiforov was not one to be stepped on, even though her husband had a strong mind, she was slyer. 

“Why, give him some money for a cab of course.” She states as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. 

So Victor takes his full messenger bag and the big postal sack and climbs in with both into the backseat of the warm cab, Makkachin climbing in after him. Victor is not afraid per say, but felt it would be strength in numbers on this heroic night. After all, Robin Hood rarely fought alone. When he had closed the car door he proudly announce: 

“Drive me to the slum!” 

The cab chauffeur arches an eyebrow and looks back at Victor Nikiforov in the rearview mirror and then up at the house the boy descended from. Victor’s cleaned and proper appearance soothes his worries that he has a robber on his hands and calmly made his way thru the town on slippery streets towards the requested destination. Victor pays the chauffeur with the money his mother given him and got out of the car. Makka is skipping around as Victor tuggs the sack behind him, making drag marks in the freshly fallen snow. He finds a gateway and slid in to it, pulling out his father Santa suit and dresses quickly, eager to get on with his heroic quest. He has to tuck the pants into his sturdy, black boots so not to trip on them and tie a belt hard around his waist so that they don’t fall down. The sleeves falls down over his hands if he reach his arms down but he does not mind. The Santa hat covered his long silver hair, the fake beard hung around his ears, cascading down his stomach. He puts a diadem with reindeer horns on Makkachin's head, completing their joined look. With a deep breath of chilly air in his lungs and Makka on his heels, Victor pulls out of the gateway and starts his adventure down the almost empty street. Victor met a most certainly drunk man and stops right in front of him. 

“Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas. Do you have any nice children at home?” 

The man stares at him, mouth opening and closing a few times before starting to stammer.

“Well-. I-. Uhm-. Yes? Why?” The man asks, eyes darting between the Santa and dog reindeer in front of him. 

“Then take this!” Victor cheerfully says, reaching into his bag, pulling out a package and handing it over to the man. “Now go home and share it with your family.” 

Victor does not look back after the man has taken the package, mouth hanging agape as he turns and follows Victor with his eyes as the young boy in a too big Santa costume and a brown poodle skipping next to him made their way down dark street. The man then with a new spring in his step hastily makes his way home to his near ones..

Victor continues his quest with a joyous mind. Finally he is doing the righteous thing, spreading joy to those who lacks. He knocks on the most crooked of doors, stops the most miserable looking street walkers, charmed the most lonely elderly and places packages in front of the blacked out drunks at the small pub at the end of the street. Victor is meet with shock, hugs and in some rare occasions a peck on the cheek. One man sheds a tear as the Christmas gift was the first he had received in over forty years. He cradled it closely to his chest, unfazed by the fact that it is a french poem collection and he understands not a word of french. Makkachin is tight on Victor’s heel the entire night, playing with all the children they came across, letting herself get petts by lonely creatures hiding in the shadows. 

Once the sack was completely empty, Victor Nikiforov starts to make his way back up the street with a skip in his step, over flooded by the joy he feels for bringing a small sliver of happiness to so many people. Victor Nikiforov changes out of his Santa costume, placing it back in to the messenger bag but left Makka’s reindeer horns on. They have almost reached the telephone booth from which he plans to call a cab and head back to the warmth of his house when Makkachin suddenly stops next to an alley, ears on point. Victor tries calling for her but she just throws him a fast glance before darting of into the pitch black narrow pass way that leads to who knows where.

“Makka come back here!” Victor calls after her as he scrambles to follow her, slipping in the freshly fallen snow. As he heads into the alley, Victor Nikiforov stopes for awhile, willing his eyes adjust to the darkness. As he tries to spot his mischievous dog he hears a voice, softly cooing at what Victor could only assume is his canine.

“Oh, such a pretty girl. Are you a reindeer? Are you helping Santa. Wow, such hard working girl aren't you, yes you are.”

He starts walking again, eyes slowly adjusting. Makkachin's soft pants and bofs can be heard before Victor can see them, smaller yipps joining the conversation he has not yet reached. When he passes a rather large dumpster with green paint halfway chipped off, he spotts them. 

On the ground, on what looked like a worn out checkered blanket sit’s Makkachin, tail thumping happily. A young man is scratching behind her ears, just like she loves it. The boy, probably around Victors age, has a dark beanie pulled down over dark hair that’s softly falling down his forehead. He wears a too big maroon sweater but no coat. The fingertips sticking out of fingerless gloves is covered with dirt sticking to creases in his nails, the skin underneath red, stained by the cold. He sits crossed legged, dark pants covering his legs down to worn out brown leather boots. He is slightly shivering, cold probably creeping into his bones. Victor could understand it. He is freezing and he is in a much better dressed state than the boy. 

A small poodle, looking just like Makkachin did when she was puppy, bounces over placing their front paws on Victor Nikiforov’s shins. The brown fur are uncut but are clean. The dog yelps at Victor before darting back to its owner, nipping at Makka’s paws in a playful manner. 

The boy looked up and Victor was meet with deep brown eyes, sparkling slighligt in the dim light, behind blue rimmed glasses. Victor felt breathless, almost dizzy, as he looked down at the delicate features. Sharp jaw, soft cheeks and full lips, chapped and cracked. He was beautiful, breathtaking despite the dirt and the hollowness around his eyes. 

“Hi” The man said, voice melodic and soft,  eyeing Victor wearily. 

“That’s her favorite spot.” Victor Nikiforov commented, feeling at a loss of how to approach. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, desperate need to get closer for some reason. The boy looked down from Victor's face, his expression turning tender as he faced Makka. 

“She’s a very fine dog.” He says. “I presume she’s yours?” His fingers trembles as he pulles them out of her fur, lifting the smaller dog into his lap. The canine flopped down, padding around for a minute much like a cat before curling up into a ball. 

“She is.” Victor agrees, stepping closer, squatting down to run his hands thru Makka’s soft fur, eyes never leaving the strangers face. “It’s very cold, don't you have any warmer clothes?”

The boy looks down in to his lap, hands idly stroking the dog resting there.  

“No I-. Well. We needed food so..” 

Victor doesn't understand what that means. The boy shivers again, teeth clacking as it travels thru his body. 

“You don't have any place to go?” Victor asks instead and even though he knows the answer he desperately wishes for another. 

“Not really. “ He answers. 

“The bar?” Victor asks, turning towards the street he came from before looking back. The young man just shakes his head, glancing down at Vicchan. 

“They don't allow dogs.” 

Victor Nikiforov frowns, for he knows that that's partly a lie, he and Makka was allowed to waltz right in, no comments about his dog placed. Perhaps there is a difference if you wear sturdy shoes, a Santa suit and come baring presents than if your looking for a warm place to sleep. Victor was at a loss. He felt completely helpless, like he needs to do something but don't know what. The snow was coming down heavier now, landing on the boys hat and long laches. Victor’s heart ached. 

“It's alright” The boy says, face soft. “They let me trade things for food, they are not bad people.” 

So that’s where the coat went. And that was one aspect that Victor had not accounted for. When did this man last eat? He is thin, but not starved. The dog however looks well feed, healthy even. Victor feels helpless for the first time in his life, joy of the previous activity now forgotten. He was known to be a impulsive person, even now as his heart decided. The young man’s eyes were captivating and Victor can’t stop himself, pull towards the kind hearted stranger to strong. He leans in and take the strangers hands in his. The young man startles, but don’t pull back.

“I have some place you could sleep. Where you would be warm. That allows dogs.” 

The boys eyes grow like saucers. When level like this, Victor can see the golden flecks in his auburn eyes. 

“What are you saying?”  The boy asks. 

“Im Victor Nikiforov” He says, as the boys hand shivers, cold fingers pricking Victors skin. “And i'm asking you to come with me”

The boy continues to stare up in to his eyes, hand clutching his like he thinks Victor will disappear if he lets go. 

“I have nothing to give” The boy states as his hand continue to tremble in Victor’s. 

“What's your name?” Victor asks instead, because he’s desperate to know, to have something to hold on to. The boy closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. When his eyes open again they are full of new life, determination.

“Yuuri.”

  
  


Yuuri refuses to come with Victor, claiming to to want to trouble him. Yet Victor can’t stop thinking about Yuuri and his tender expression. Victor’s days and night fills with thoughts of Yuuri’s care for his dog, his cold trembling hands, his laughter and smiles. So Victor Nikiforov returns to ask that same question every night. He returns to the dark alley with food and gloves and treats for Vicchan. He comes right before or directly after his shift at the postal service. He always find Yuuri in the same place behind the dumpster, always in the same torn and dirty clothes. They talk about Victor’s longing for change, how life felt lonely. Something about Yuuri made him feel, more than he has in years. Yuuri encouraged him, told him to only be himself. It was intoxicating, being asked to only be yourself when all you had ever heard was to be better than that. Victor warmed Yuuri’s hands in his, the contact feeling electric. With much regret Victor pulls away every night, sleep calling him home. He asks Yuuri every night to come with him. The answer remained the same and Victor went to sleep with an uneasy feeling creeping thru his veins, dreaming of a shivering body to hold in the night. 

On the fifth night, the day before Christmas, Yuuri says yes.

  
  


The cab ride is quiet, only crackling Christmas carols from the radio that disturbed the silence. It’s now well into the night, advent candelabras gleaming in otherwise dark windows of the houses they pass. They ride upwards, Yuuri’s eyes grows wide, grip on Vicchan tightening.The cab stopped and Victor payed, wishing the chauffeur a Merry Christmas as Yuuri stands frozen staring up at the house. Makkachin beside him, pressing herself to his side as Vicchan sleeps soundly in his arms.

“Come on, lets get inside” Victor says, walking up to the steel gates holding them open for the party to step thru. 

The foyer is quiet but as they ascend the stairs the loud sound of the TV accompanied by loud snoring fills the upper lever of the house. A quick glance into the parlour confirmed Victor’s assumptions that his father sits slumped in his armchair in front of the TV, ham and mustard sandwiches forgotten on the side table. He asks Yuuri to wait in the corridor, swiftly sneaks into the room and snatches the plate up and then escorts Yuuri towards his room. 

Victor shows Yuuri in to his on suite bathroom with a shower, leaving him with a almost new nightshirt and a never used pair of underwear, promising to take care of Vicchan as Yuuri gets cleaned and warmed up. Vicchan and Makkachin hastily dig into the treats Victor keeps hidden in desk drawer, since his mother thinks that it is not proper to feed one's dog in the bedroom. The treats will suffice for now, lasting the dogs thru the night. 

Victor sneaks out of the room. In one of the many guest rooms he pulls out the mattress of the bed, rolls it up and carries it in to his room. Victor Nikiforov can put Yuuri in one of the spare rooms but is concerned that he will feel uncomfortable in the big house. Victor also fears for if someone else would find Yuuri without Victor there, so this was an acceptable compromise. A hidden part of him also wishes to be close to Yuuri. 

He walks back into the bedroom, seeing Yuuri sitting on his knees next to the dog bed were both dog slept, curled up together. When he sees Victor he smiles, soft, cheeks still flushed red from the warm water of the shower. His skin was clear now. Dust from the streets washed of, shoving a beautiful complexion. Victor wonderes how long Yuuri has been out there alone in the cold for the dust to have covered his face so completely. Yuuri hastily stand, reaching for the mattress to relieve Victor of it. 

“Thank you for this Victor, it is far too kind.” Yuuri states, rolling out the mattress on the floor. 

“Do not mention it Yuuri. I have not slept well since we met, knowing you were out there freezing when I have more than enough room to spare.” 

He offers Yuuri the sandwiches which he devours like it’s the air he needs to breathe. Victor smiles joyously while Yuuri blush fiercely, apologising for his bad manners. Victor tried to offer Yuuri his bed, because he was a gentleman and surely Yuuri deserved it for braving in the cold for so long,  but Yuuri insists that he shall sleep on the floor, and just so not to embarrass his guest, Victor Nikiforov relents. 

“Good night Yuuri” Victor Nikiforov whispered into the dark when they are nestled down into warm duvets. 

“Good night sweet Victor” Yuuri replies, and Victors heart pounded twice as fast as he drifted off into a peaceful sleep. One wish on his mind.  _ Please keep him close to me. Please don’t make him leave.  _

Sometime during the night Victor’s mattress dips and Yuuri slides in under the covers. 

“Im cold” He whispers. 

“Come, I’ll warm you up.”  Victor answers, folding Yuuri into his arms.

The morning came, bathing the room in a somber light as they had forgotten to pull the drapes before going to sleep. Victor rises first, Yuuri still sleeping heavily, letting out puffy breasts against the exposed skin on Victors neck. Victor is enchanted by his soft lips and dark laches. He does not think as his hand caress Yuuri cheek, eyes fluttering open. 

“Good morning Victor” He says. Eyes meeting Victors, making his heart.

“Good morning Yuuri, I hope you slept well?”

“Like a prince” Yuuri answers, pink strokes dusting his cheeks as he turns his eyes down. 

The door to Victor’s bedchambers burst open and just as usual his brother darts inside but this time hasty stops, eyes growing wide as as he take’s in the unprecedented scene in Victor’s room.

“Victor, who is this?” Little Yuri asks, eyeing Yuuri up and down. Yuuri shrunk under the gaze of the four year old, pulling back into his shell. Victor panics, terrified of making Yuuri uncomfortable. He tightened his grip, armes still wrapped around Yuuri. Yuuri’s eyes darted up to met his, Yura forgotten.

“Yura, this is Yuuri. Santa brought him to me.” Victor says because it was partly true, and it is all he can think about that his brother might accept. 

“Really? You wish for a boy?” His brother asks, head tilted to the side, blond fringe falling in to his eyes. 

Well he’s not wrong, Victor Nikiforov thinks. For Victor had wished for Yuuri for many night now. Yuuri smiles up at him, small and soft and lovely, making Victor think he can get lost in the expression of Yuuri’s face for day’s. Yura, probably getting board with waiting, calls out for someone else to come explain the situation, someone Victor is not prepared to deal with just yet. 

“Mama! Mama! Santa gave Victor a boy for Christmas!”

Victor hastily scrambles to his feet, releasing the grip on Yuuri as he does. His mind rushes to try to find some sort of explanation, something that can conclude for Yuuri to stay there. His mother appeared in the door faster than she has ever done when being called for before. Her eyes dart around the room from Yura to Victor and stopping at Yuuri and the bed. Her eyes squint before slowly rising to met Victor’s again. 

“Vitya? What is the meaning of this?” She questions, hands firmly on hips, feet a shoulder with apart looking just as intimidating as only she can. Before Victor can react, which is an embarrassing amount of time, Yuuri decides to do it for him.

“G-. Good morning Mrs Nikiforov. My name is Yuuri. Pleasure to meet you.  You have a very lovely home and an utmost kind son.“ Yuuri says, stepping up gracefully from the bed, reaching a hand out for a proper greeting. Victor all but swoons. Lilia squares her shoulders, looks Yuuri up and down before taking his hands and shaking it once. 

“Get dressed. We will discuss this in the parlour with your father.” She states, eyes locked at Victor before turning and staking of. Yuuri turns to him immediately, panic in his eyes. 

“I’m so so sorry if I got you into trouble. I will leave right away.” He states, starting to collect his torn and dirty clothes. 

“You will do no such thing. I’ve done much worse things than this. Come, let’s get ready and eat breakfast. We can discuss the future with full stomachs.” Victor says, walking over to his wardrobe dodging Yura who has proceeded to start a tag game with the dogs. Yuuri follows Victor, presence near but not touching. Victor fiercely wants to lean in, let his back touch Yuuri’s chest. He does not know what drives this want but he oppresses it for now, there are more important tasks to handle first. He pulls out a pair of dark pants and a soft knitted sweater and hands them to Yuuri, soft pleading smile for him to take them. Once they are dressed and Yura once again has disappeared, they leave the dogs with one of the maids to get feed and move towards the parlour. Yuuri looks lovely in Victor’s to big blue sweater, hanging loosely around his small frame. 

In the parlour, Victor Nikiforov’s mother is pacing as his father sits in front of the TV, looking like he hasn't moved since yesterday. Yura is laying on the ground, eying the gifts under the tree. As soon as Lilia spots them she takes a deep breath to say something but it is lost as the phone rings. She lets out the breath with a deep sigh and walks over, answering with a strained voice. 

“Hello. Yes well-. Yes Merry Christmas Yekaterina. What? Hand painted china plate? No, I’ve-. No we haven't. Flower motive? Yes. Clove flowers in pitcher? No I'm sorry Yekaterina but-. Yes. Yes you do that. Well-. I-. Good bye then.” Lilia says, placing the phone back on the wall. 

“Yakov, your sister had sent a hand painted china plate.” Lila says, turning towards her husband who still hasn't pulled his eyes from the TV. 

“Isn't it by god's grace that that thing didn't find its way here, now quiet i'm watching television!” Yakov mutters, eye’s still fixated on the pictures flashing on the screen.

“She was very cross. She was going to call the director of the postal service.” Lilia explain. 

“Poor man he’s probably also watching television, now be quiet!” 

“Strange for it to just vanish.” Lilia mutteres.

“Victor, you work at the post office, have you seen it?” Yura piped up from his place next to the sparkling Christmas tree. This information makes Lilia turn towards Victor while Victor Nikiforov is having an inner crisis, Lying to his mother on Christmas? No never! Proudly admitting the truth? Yes! With Yuuri as a solid warmth next to him, Victor takes half a step forward.

“I took the package and gave it to a poor.” This admittance makes Victor’s father flinch in his chair, tering his eyes of the screen. 

“What did you say that you said?” he bellows, face turning a deep shade of red.

“I gave aunt Yekaterina’s china plate to a poor.” Victor Nikiforov repeats calmly. 

“Have you lost your mind boy?” Yakov screams, now standing from his chair, making Yuuri jump. Victor instinctively takes his hand to sooth him. He was use to his father's outbursts, not even flinching as his father's voice rose an octave. 

“I’ve taken a bunch of packages from rich people and given them to poor people.”

“WHAT!? Have I nurtured a mad man in my house?” Yakov yells, arms flailing at his sides. 

“But father, you just said that you didn’t want aunt Yekaterina’s china plate.” Victor points out as Yuuri give his hand a tight squeeze. 

“Said and said, IT WAS MY PLATE!!” Yakov continues do scream, blue vein on his forehead throbbing. “And what about everybody else? Everyone that you have stolen from! What will they say? What will happen if they find out, nobody will want to work with me, i'll be ruined. And you, you could go to institution for this!” 

“I’m prepared to take my punishment father, I have given joy to those who had very little, those who don’t own an emporium. For that I am glad.”

His father looks like he is boiling, ready to burst, when Victor's mother steps in, the first to acknowledge the other two people in the room. 

“Yura, would you please take, uhm -. Mr?” She says, voice strained as she motions towards Yuuri.

“Katsuki” Yuuri answers. The reaction in the room is instant. A loud gasp falls from both Victor Nikiforov parents lips as their jaws drops, both staring at Yuuri who slowly shrinks back behind Victors back, hand still clutched tightly. Victor’s mother is the first to collect herself, clearing her throat, turning towards young Yura. 

“Yes. Yura would you please take Mr. K-Katsuki down to the kitchen and have him help you pick out the Christmas candy that Mrs. Nishigori has made for us.” 

Victor Nikiforov's little brother comes up and takes Yuuri’s other hand, tugging slightly. Victor gives a reassuring smile over his shoulder to encourage Yuuri  who leaves with a worried look as he’s pulled away, eyes pleading as if to tell Victor he is sorry for causing this mess. Yuuri has nothing to be sorry for, Victor knows. He has placed himself promptly in this situation and he has no regrets about it. 

Victor is completely prepared to have his parents yell at him some more, expecting a thrashing for what he has done but instead his parents turn to each other, shocked expression on their faces. 

“Katsuki” His father is the first one to speak. 

“It's not possible.” His mother answers, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“Well he looks just like her, doesn't he?” Victor’s father then says, slumping down in to his chair again, looking up at his wife. 

“But it’s been years. I hardly believe that-.” 

“Well we have to try to find out then won’t we.” His father declare and with that, the conversation dies down. Victor looks from his mother to his father and back, searching for any explanation about what the puzzling exchange meant but found none. Just as he had gathered the courage to ask, his mother spoke instead. 

“Vitenka, where did you find that boy?” She asks, voice calm and collected, but sharper than it usually is. Victor feels like he’s walking a slack line, like the wrong words would wound his parents gravely. Still he has vowed to himself to not lie, and therefore he power on and shares the truth.

“Behind a dumpster in an alley in the slum area.” 

Both Victor Nikiforov’s parent such in a harsh breath, eyes locked with each other. They seem to have one of their quiet conversations. Victor braces himself for the impact of his fathers yelling that usually erupts from one of those, but it never comes. Instead his mother lets out a deep sigh, followed by the confusing statement:

“I’ll go ask Anna to make up the spare bedroom. Am I to assume the small poodle was his?”

To this Victor can only nod, baffled. He is prepared to fight tooth and nail for Yuuri to stay. Victor Nikiforov was to show all his courage and bravery protecting the boy who has grown so precious to his heart. Instead he watches his mother leave the room, his father looking after her without seeing. Victor Nikiforov doesn't understand. So in his hour of need, he turns to his father. 

“What is happening? I don't understand-.” Victor starts and stops as his father's eyes meet his. 

“It is not important, not right now. What is important however is the other mess you made. Who else did you steal from?” His father asks. Victor wanted to argue, claim that it is very much important but refrains for it after studying his father's expression. He does not look angry anymore, not like he did bare minutes ago. He looks tired, drained. 

“I marked them with red ink in your assessment calendar.” Victor Nikiforov confesses. 

“Fine. Go fetch it. Now, you and I will go to those innocent people and you will apologise for stealing from them.” His father proclaim, no room for discussion in his command. 

“What about Yuuri?” Victor Nikiforov asks, turning towards the door where the two Yuri's disappeared.

“Your mother will deal with it. Come.”

Now, would Victor Nikiforov's harsh father’s heart relent if he with his own eyes had seen the joy that his son’s actions had brought those who have so little. If he had seen unemployed Hisashi Morooka’s children, happily playing with the six pack of pear tree napkin rings.  Would he be able to keep hold of his anger if he had known the joy widow Min-So Park felt when she opened the china plate with clove flowers in a pitcher. These questions will never be answered, one can only speculate if his heart strings would soften if he heard Ketty Abelashvili play on her new toy trumpet. 

Yakov Nikiforov hastily pulls his son with him him down to the car and chauffeur, with a small detour to the study to pick up the assessment calendar. Yakov is an honourable man. He will not stand by and watch as his air headed son ruin what had taken him years to build. So as they made their way into the car, he opens up the calendar and give the driver the first address that had been marked. 

Director A. Leroy’s maid open the door for them as they arrived. 

“Hello ms. Could we speak to the director. It was about a Christmas gift.” Yakov Nikiforov explains. 

They were showed in to the parlour where director A. Leroy was inaugurating the pool table that he gifted his son, a boy Victors age, for Christmas. 

“I beat you again father, in classic JJ style” The son cheers as they enter.

“God day, and Merry Christmas.” says Yakov, fiddling a little with his hat. “We’ve come to inform you that my son has taken one of your Christmas presents from the postal office and given them to a poor.” 

“I apologise if it was something you were to miss, but you have so much money so I thought the gift could bring some joy in societies lower classes.” Victor Nikiforov explains, standing tall. 

Both director A. Leroy and his son stands with their mouth agape before the director breaks into a dazzling grin. 

“That was the most beautiful thing i’ve heard since I last went to church!” he exclaims. “Do you want a dried fig?”

“That must have been uncle Thomas match canvas with the Battle of Hastings on it that he called and asked about before. “ Director A. Leroy’s son says. “I hope it was satisfactory, because that’s what I told him that it was.”

“Yes that's what we usually say when they call. Can’t keep track of all the nick nacks all those crazy relatives send. I have the most gratitude towards you my boy, if not for you I would have had to put up yet another unwanted canvas.” The director smiles as his son nodd. 

Victor Nikiforov's apology train quickly turned into a triumphant victory march. Everywhere they come he is greeted as a hero. He’s cheered for at the Giacometti house, Engineer G. Giacometti thrilled to have been rid of a home knitted sweater from his mother-in-law. He was hugged tightly by Doctor M. Popovich for having the decency to give the brain shaped letter press to someone who might find joy in it. And at the Babicheva house he was treated to candy and hot mulled wine while Director M. Babicheva toasted with Yakov over the relief of not having to track down the painting of his mothers pugs that she had sent. 

Yakov Nikiforov’s scowl was slowly replaced with a proud grin. At the Crispino residence, where Victor was offered the daughter's hand in marriage for his heroic deed, murderous glare from her brother included, he gave Victor a pleased pat on the shoulder before they departed with loud applause seeing them out. 

 

When they entered the house, ridding themselves of shoes and coats, Yakov turnes to Victor with a soft expression. 

“I don’t like how you did it, but you did a good deed Victor. You have a kind heart and I am proud of you. Now come, lets see how your mother has fended.“ Yakov says before taking the stairs, heading for the parlour. 

When they enter they soon find Yuuri sitting cross legged on the floor, dogs and Yura dancing around him, jumping and laughing as Yuuri softly sings along with Yura’s favorite Christmas song. As he spotts Victor, he smiles brightly It made Victor’s heart soar. He felt such a pull towards Yuuri, a need do keep him close. He hopes he would be able to do that for a very long time. 

Victor Nikiforov's mother was nowhere to be found, and his father heads out to try to find her. Victor still can’t figure out what they knew that they won’t disclose but he hopes that it would all be revealed in time. For now, he was content with sitting down next to Yuuri, lacing their hands together and smile. 

 

After an unknown amount of time, when the dogs had tired and Yura had eaten to much of the delicious fudge that Mrs Nishigori had made, the Nikiforov parents entered the room again. Victor and Yuuri have moved to the couch, hands still laced as they leane on each other, softly whispering beautiful nothings in each others ears. They straighten when they spot the couple, sitting upright in the sofa. Yuuri release Victor’s hand but Victor won't let go, squeezing so that Yuuri would latch on again.  

Lilia and Yakov sits down on the couch across from them, stepping around sleeping dogs and a reading Yura on their way. Their looks are grim but not angry nor sad, more worried perhaps. 

“Would you all please tell me what’s going on?” Victor asks.

“Mr. Katsuki, I-. Would you tell us how you ended up in that alley?” Lilia asks, looking unsure. This was a look that Victor Nikiforov was vastly unused to seeing on his proud mother. 

“Its-. I would not expect you to believe me.” Yuuri says, eyes fixed on the ground. A cold shiver runs down Victor’s spine. 

“I would not presume to much boy. Now, speak up.” Yakov Nikiforov commands, and Yuuri complies.

“I am not from here. I come from another county. My-. Uhm-. My parents have a lot of influence there. They are good people and well, some wanted to take advantage of that.” Yuuri says, voice wavering. Victor wants to wrap him in his arms and hold him close but he relents, holds Yuuri’s hand steady instead. Victor doesn't see the knowing looks in his parents eyes, the way they nod as if this was something they already knew. Yuuri takes a deep breath and continues. 

“I was taken on my way to school. I don't know much about it since I was knocked unconscious. When I managed to escape I had no idea of how long it had been, or where I was. I tried talking to the authorities but nobody believed me, beaten and dirty as i was. I had no money so I did what I could to survive. I tried sending letters but had no address to have any sent back to. Its been at least two years since I was taken.” Yuuri’s voice is steady as he talks and Victor can’t comprehend how. The story shakes him to the bone and he looks up at his parent for support in what to do. The story sounds impossible but he does not think Yuuri would lie. Lilia Nikiforov has tears in her eye’s. Victor understands why. He and Yura have been told these stories. To not take the same way home everyday, to make sure he is safe, not take unnecessary risk. It’s the price of money, of influence, and Yuuri has made an unbelievable sacrifice. 

“I assumed as much” Victor’s father says, voice a little wet but steady. “Lilia has been in contact with the concolate in your country. They thought that you were dead. I’m not sure they believe us but they decided to inform your parent. They want to come, see if there is any truth to it. They should arrive sometime tomorrow.” 

Fat tears start falling down Yuuri’s cheeks, sobs ripping thru his body and Victor can’t contain himself any longer, gathering Yuuri up in his arms, cradling him to his chest. When Victor, or rather Makkachin, found Yuuri in that alleyway, cold and dirty but with a soft smile and tender heart Victor would have never suspected this. The Yuuri in his arms are warm and broken and all Victor wants is to mend him, to hold him together as he breaks apart. Victor never wants to let go, because it feels like it would break him as well.

Nether notice when the rest of the Nikiforov family leaves. Someone takes the dogs out and then comes back with them. Vicchan sits on the floor next to the couch, throwing worried glances towards his owner. Yuuri remains pulled into Victor’s lap, head turned in to his chest as he cries and cries. Time becomes irrelevant as Victor holds him and tell him all that he admires about Yuuri, all he finds beautiful. They have known eachother for less than a week. It should be impossible for Victor to feel so strongly, but he does. His entire being longs to hold Yuuri like this. To give him everything he has. 

After a while, Yuuri’s sniffling subsides and his breathing evens out. His body grows heaving in Victor's embrace and he knows that sleep has taken over after the emotions have run amok. Victor Nikiforov gathers Yuuri Katsuki into his arms and carries him to his bedroom, carefully sets him down in his bed. He doesn't care for rules or property as he slides under the covers, pulling Yuuri into a protective embrace. 

 

**One year later**

 

Yuuri wakes warm and cozy, snug body pressed against his. He has yet to open his eyes, nightmare still lingering in his mind. Cold hands, stomach rumbling, Vicchan’s shivering body pressed against his in the dark night. It felt real. Like no time had passed and he was still seeking shelter in that stone alleyway. Soft sheets and a warm duvet surround him, the warm body tightly pressed against his accompanied by puffy breaths that skim his hair reminds him of this reality. It grounds him. Makes him strong. 

As if he feels it, knows Yuuri's thoughts, Victor’s arms that envelop him tightens and Yuuri can't stop the satisfied hum he lets out. This is everything. Everything he need and everything he wants. It's not entirely true but in some ways it is. Victor’s lips swipe slowly over his forehead, more like a caress than a kiss. Yuuri’s body responds and almost without thought he tips his head upwards and places soft kisses on the underside of Victor’s jaw. Its Victors time to hum now, a sound so content that it sends pleasant shivers thru Yuuri’s entire body. Victor scoots down until their face to face before slowly opening his eyes. When blue meets brown a smile spreads on his face. The change is instant but slow all the same, Victors beautiful face spreading into a gorgeous grin that always, always takes Yuuri’s breath away. 

They lean in and theirs lips meet, soft and loving and Yuuri feels the blush staining his cheeks red from the want, the need but mostly the lovely caress that it is. 

“Good morning love” Victor says lips still pressed against Yuuri’s. Yuuri who only hums his response, mind still foggy from sleep. “Ready for today?” Victor continues. 

“Definitely and not at all.” Yuuri whispers. 

“Will it feel better if I stay close to you?” Victor asks as his hands starts to caress Yuuri’s bare back. It's those words that makes Yuuri dare to open his eyes again, locking on to the stormy seas that Victor’s is. 

“Yes” he says more like a breath than a word. “Stay close to me and never leave.”

After more kisses and soft words they slowly untangle themselves, reluctantly. They do it mostly because they anticipate what undeniably comes a few minutes after they've gotten up, Yuuri seconds into his clothes and Victor just steps out of the bathroom. The door bursts open and the now five year old Yuri Nikiforov burst in with two brown poodles in tow. 

“Yuuri Yuuri! Come now! I've waited forever!” Yura says, grabbing for Yuuri’s hand as the dog dance around them, unsure who to greet first. 

“Alright i’m coming.” Yuuri laughs and smiles back at Victor who is crouching down to great their excited dogs as Yuri pulls him out of the bedroom.

Yura’s stone hard grip losens when he’s gotten Yuuri out of the room but doesn't let go as they make their way down now familiar hallways.

“You were sleeping for so long i thought you would miss the entire Christmas. Aunt Hiroko says not to wake you but I couldn't wait and since you were already up i didn't really wake you did i?” Yura asks as he looks back at Yuuri, eyes pleading for acceptance. 

“Of course” Yuuri agrees because he know his mother will not hold it against Yura for being eager. Especially on a day such as today. 

When the they enter the breakfast room, just out run by Makkachin and Vicchan, its bustling with activity. Yakov and Hiroko seems to be completely engrossed in conversation, of what can not be heard from Yuuri’s place at the door. Next to them Toshiya is quietly reading a newspaper and Lilia and Mari seem to be discussing something that has them both frowning. Nothing too heavy, Yuuri hopes. 

Victor makes his presence known with the steady weight of a hand to Yuuri’s lower back. Mari has just risen and comes to great then.

It has been a strange year, coming together after being apart for so long, remembering a ghost of a person that none of the Katsuki's is anymore. But they are learning, adapting. His parents have given more than Yuuri could have ever asked for, never forcing him from Victor’s side. Victor who sees Yuuri for all that he is. Yuuri Katsuki the son of politician Toshiya Katsuki. A valuable asset that was taken, a cold and frightened boy in a dark alley. Dog lover, dancer, despises math. Victor love it all. 

“You excited little brother?” Mari asks, softer than she usually is. It’s that kind of day, Yuuri knows. 

“Should I not be asking you that? It’s your big day after all.” Yuuri states as Victor’s hand starts rubbing small circles on his back. 

“I guess it’s a special day for both of us. For me it’s exciting, challenging. I’m imagining that you are feeling quite different.” 

She is right of course. Today the shelter Mari’s been working on for the past six months opens. It marks the day Victor brought Yuuri into his life and gave him love. The day Yuuri’s family was given hope that he might be alive. The day Victor found someone to hold on to. 

It’s placed in the middle of the district that Yuuri lived in for years while his parents thoughts was lost. For Mari it has been a way to try to understand as much as it has been a way to branch out from the Katsuki company. To thrive on her own. For Yuuri it’s a ghost he wants to leave in the past. He is pleased that less people will freeze and starve , but he rather not see it. The memories are to fresh and hurt to much. He has not dared to tell Mari. Does not want to spoil her big day. 

“It will be fine Neechan.” Yuuri simply states. 

After breakfasts they make their way down to the many cars waiting to drive them. The uneasy feeling in Yuuri’s stomach lurches and he bites down hard, teeth clacking. Victor’s hand find his and he is quite violently, but without malice, pushed into the Nikiforov car where the driver Mr. Nishigori waits. 

“Same plan as this morning sir?” He asks and Yuuri has no idea what that’s means but it seams Victor does. 

“Yes please Nishigori, thank you.” Victor says and smiles brightly. When the three cars filled with the two families drives out thru the iron gates of the Nikiforov townhouse into the streets he two prior turns right as Victors and Yuuri’s instead turns left. 

Yuuri looks puzzled at Victor who smiles so brightly Yuuri loses his breath, like he always does. 

“I told Mari that I needed a special boyfriend day today, since it is my birthday.” Victor states as if it was the simplest thing in the world, but his eyes show of mischief. 

“But the opening? I-?” Yuuri starts but is interrupted by a small peck on the lips that silence him. 

“You have been wrung up and worried the whole week. I’ve seen you try to power thru for everybody else but you don’t need to. It was not your fault what happened, you do not owe them to return. So me and Mari decided that they will do what they need, and I will give you something I think you need.” Victor explains as he cups his cheek, eyes filled with love and Yuuri’s heart is so full he thinks he could burst. 

“Should it not be the other way around, since it is your birthday?” Yuuri asks, so dizzy with joy it’s hard to focus. 

“Oh but you are. Trust me love, this is just as much for me as for you.” Victor confesses. 

And later, when they sink down into the warm waters of the hot springs in the spa, Yuuri wraps himself around Victors body, presses his lips against his and whispers what he mostly desires. 

 

“Don’t ever leave. Stay close to me.” 

The answer is as hauntingly beautiful as Victors pale skin, azure eyes, starlight hair and fiercely kind heart, a heart that Yuuri loves more than he would have ever imagined. 

“Please marry me.” 

 

 

 

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed it, it was a blast to write. 
> 
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